Stranded
by xpriordeen
Summary: A missing scene from Mockingjay, set shortly after Peeta is rescued form the Capitol. When Katniss sees a mysterious room number inked on her arm as part of her schedule, her curiosity gets the best of her and she decides to actually show. Little does she know, she'll be coming face to face with Peeta again, although he is obviously not the boy she used to know.
1. Chapter 1

She looked at him through the glass. It was impossibly thick, she knew, but looking through it, she could almost imagine that there was nothing separating the two of them. She knew there was. She knew it was more than this pane of glass. This morning, when she looked down at her arm to examine her schedule, she almost missed the new addition. At first, she scoffed at the unfamiliar room number, thinking that she was scheduled for some meeting about the "Mockingjay" and her "responsibilities." _Fuck that, _she thought. She never wanted this anyway. She wasn't hungry, so she planned to curl up in a closet immediately, but something about the fact that there was nothing inked in this time slot except a room number made her sit down next to Gale and show him her arm.

"You should go," he advised.

And he had looked so tired, so drained, that she was compelled to believe he was being honest with her. So she went, and if she had any energy, any motivation at all this morning, it was gone as soon as she arrived at her destination. Now, she hurt everywhere. She ached at the thought of Peeta Mellark. But this wasn't just the thought of him. This was him. She tugged nervously at the bracelet that listed all of her medical conditions. She scoffed for the second time today. It was really the only noise she was willing to make. If anyone was mentally unstable, it was Peeta. She should be considered fully functional compared to him. As soon as soon as the thought crossed her mind, she felt guilty. The guilt brings her back to her senses, to the present, to her current situation, to Peeta. Dragging her attention back to the glass, she studies him. She thinks that she's never seen a human in worse condition. His body looks smaller than she remembers. No, that can't be right. She sees the muscles ripple underneath his shirt, despite the unflattering, District 13 issued material. His face does look thinner, though. She reminds herself that he was probably, no, definitely starved. Most of all, its his posture that makes him look to diminutive. He sits with his shoulders hunched as if he wants to cave into himself. She wants to wrap her arms around his waist and straighten him up, but she knows it will do more harm than good to the both of them. The look in his eyes matches his posture. They're sunken, with huge, dark bags that look like shadows on his sharp cheekbones. He stares at the wall, and while she isn't close enough to see directly into his irises, she can tell that they're no longer that beautiful, limpid blue. The only movement he makes is the rhythmic clenching and unclenching of his jaw.

"Soldier Everdeen."

The voice sounds like an echo.

"Soldier Everdeen."

It isn't. She looks to the panel of doctors next to her.

"We'd like you to go in now."

She nods and shuffles to the door, thinking that this seems more like a science experiment than two people talking to each other. That's all they are. An experiment. Can they even be considered people? Or are they just variables? The door buzzes, signaling that it has been unlocked for her, and she enters the room. She pulls out a chair from the small table and sits opposite Peeta. They're so close. If she wanted to, she could reach out and take his hand. She knows better. The screeching of the metal chair legs on the metal floor draws Peeta's attention. He looks through her and groans. They're both silent. Minutes pass before she finally speaks.

"I'm here to talk," she tells him.

"I have nothing to say to you."

His voice sounds dark and it comes out cracked, like he's hoarse. She's stunned. The Peeta she knew would never speak to her like that, and he always had something to say. Something beautiful. The nostalgia makes her physically ache, and she wraps her arms around her body as if to hold herself together. He rolls his eyes.

"I won't hurt you. I can't. See?"

He raises his arm as high off the table as it will go. His wrists are both chained to the surface. She nods in understanding, and she knows that she has to say something, but she has no idea where to start.

"I'm sorry," she says.

He doesn't interrupt.

"I don't know exactly what happened to you in the Capitol…"

He cuts her off.

"No, you wouldn't know, would you? You don't even care. They tortured me, Katniss! They beat me! They beat me just like my mother used to! They starved me and hit me and shocked me and stuck me with needles! They made me watch my family die! I had to listen to them torture people I know! I was attacked and assaulted and tortured, Katniss! Do you know what that's like!? Do you!?"

His face contorts with rage and he grits his teeth, hands clenched in fists, wrists straining against the cuffs. They dig into his skin, drawing blood which circles his wrists like sick, beautiful bracelets, dripping down onto the table and onto his forearms.

"Peeta," she chokes.

"No. You have no idea!"

His voice rises again.

"And then, when that wasn't enough, they took my fucking mind, Katniss!"

She takes his pause as a moment to interject. She's never been good at controlling her anger, so she doesn't bother trying.

"You think I don't wish it was me instead of you!? You think I don't spend every day hating Haymitch for saving me over you!? You think I wasn't sick with worry everyday until you were rescued!? Peeta…"

"Why did you rescue me!? I don't want to be here!"

He spits the words like they're bile in his mouth, but presses on.

"I don't want to be chained to a fucking table and monitored every second and stared at and whispered about like the fucking monster I am! At lease in the Capitol they knew what to do with me! Here, I have to sit around, knowing that you get to wander free like some innocent little doe that wouldn't hurt a fly! You should be chained! You're a killer! You killed my family! You manipulated me into loving you! I never really loved you, Kanitss Everdeen! You used me! You… you…"

His pants like he just ran a mile uphill.

"Why did you rescue me?" He repeats.

"I just want to die! Just let me fucking die already!"

He pulls harder at the chains and bangs his head on the table. She flies up out of her chair and screams for help. _Why is no one helping him?_ He screams and bangs his head again, and she throws herself at him, trying to calm him down, trying to stop the blood flow from his wrists, trying to hold him back so he can't make contact with the metal tabletop any more. She grips his shoulders and screams when the doctors in their clean white coats finally come rushing in. They try to pull her off him, but she doesn't let go. She doesn't want to let go. She won't let go. She won't let them hurt him anymore. She screams, and he screams, and their screams come together like a choir of pain and agony and suffering. She clings to him, shaking, feeling him shake, and they tremble as one until she sees them slip a needle into his bicep. His eyes go wide and he slumps in her grip, one final moan escaping his lips.

"Peeta."

She tries to scream his name, but it comes out like a whimper. A needle pierces her skin and she goes willingly into the medically induced coma. She needs him, and the realization that he's gone hits her hard. It breaks her. Without him, she is an island alone. She is stranded, with no one to hear her cries. He is stranded, without her to help him recover his mind.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: This was originally a one-shot and I haven't touched it for a while, but I got some new ideas while I was reading**_** Mockingjay **_**for the millionth time, so here's another one-shot that I'd like to pair with **_**Stranded**_**. I know the timeline might not be 100% accurate, but don't get too mad at me about not fact checking for exact dates :) I've read _Mockingjay_ probably close to 20 times, so my estimates shouldn't be too off.**

* * *

After she recovered from their little episode in the holding room, Katniss demanded to be sent far away. Haymitch new she'd flee from Peeta (she's always running from something) but something in the back of his mind, or maybe in the back of his heart, was hoping she wouldn't abandon the boy this time. When she did, he started spending more time with Peeta…

* * *

_Day One_

I really thought that for the amount of time and effort I put in to letting these damn doctors clear me to talk to the boy, he'd be a little more excited to see me.

"Get the _fuck_ away from me."

I really wish I had a drink right now.

"You think I'll hurt you?"

"I know you already have."

I know he's properly coherent right now. I know his claims are warranted. I know he's just as angry that I left them in the dark about the rebel plot in the arena as Katniss was. And honestly, if he blames me for what happened to him in the Capitol, for the hijacking, I wouldn't try to convince him that he's wrong. I blame myself, too. I left him there. But he would have wanted me to. He would have wanted me to save his girl. Well, he used to want that.

"I know," is all I say.

I can't apologize. I'm not sorry. But he has every right to look at me like I'm the enemy. When he doesn't respond, I take my leave.

* * *

_Day Two_

He lets me sit at the table in his room today. Room. If you can call it that. It's small, just like the rest of the rooms in this underground shit hole, but it's also more prison-like, if that's even possible. The manacles and restraints on the hospital bed unnerve me, but not as much as that fucking one way glass. He must know they're always watching him. He's unstable. He must know that, too.

"Boy," I nod at him.

He scoffs, angry. It's a strange color on him.

"Boy. Can't even call me by my name. Hardly ever looked at me. You call me boy and you call her sweetheart and comfort her and protect her and defend her you fucking idiot! She's a liar! She's lying to you, Haymitch, you've gotta believe me! She's a mutt!"

I glance at the glass, scowling at the doctors for purposefully making _me_ deal with him on a shitty day. Now I have to sit here and talk about Katniss Everdeen as if she hasn't been the biggest problem in my life since she walked up on that fucking stage last year.

"Okay, Peeta, calm down, what do you think Katniss is lying about?"

At the sound of her name he flies out of his seat, knocking it to the ground, fixing her glare on me as he rounds the table and glowers down at me. I'd stand, but he'd still be a taller and more commanding presence.

"Everything. Everything. Everything she's ever said. She lied about being on our side. She lied about wanting to help us. She lied about… about…"

He looks confused.

"She lied about loving me… but… but…"

He struggles to breathe and as I stand to steady him, he starts to cry. I have no fucking idea what to do.

"Peeta…"

He punches me in the nose and the soldiers come flooding in to restrain him. Within seconds he's strapped to the bed and knocked out cold.

* * *

_Day Three_

"I'm sorry, Haymitch."

He should be. Boy fucking broke my nose.

"Well, it's just good to see you're doing better today."

"Yesterday was, um, rough."

"Suppose some days are gonna be harder than others from now on."

"You're right. I know. It's just that on the bad days it's impossible to tell what's real and what's not."

"And you get angry about it."

"I'm always angry."

"Still mad at me, I guess?"

He's silent. Today, I press on. Just like I did with her.

"Just say it."

"I can't believe you didn't tell me. Did you tell her?"

"It was best for the both of you to stay in the dark. Besides, if we told her, she would have told you, and vice versa."

"That's not true."

"It is. She'd do anything for you."

"She left me in the arena."

"I left you in the arena. And you wanted it to be her we saved."

"I did?"

He's disoriented, but he doesn't lash out this time.

"You did. You loved her a lot."

"That's what they tell me."

"And you? What about you?"

"What about me?"

"How do you feel about her?"

"Just… leave me alone… please."

He puts his head in his hands and I do as he asks.

* * *

_Day Four_

Prim comes up with the idea to use morphling. I think it's as good as any. The doctors are hesitant, given the little girl's age, but I know she's smarter and more experienced than these dumb fucks who've done absolutely nothing to help the boy. How could they? They don't know him. They don't know his life. They know nothing outside of this underground prison. So, like the fucking useless pieces of shit they are, they sit around and… what? Stare at him? Knock him out cold whenever he gets the slightest bit angry? Personally, I think the rage is good for him, at least to a certain extent. He was always unnervingly calm.

After the first dose, he's confused, and the doctors try to write Prim's idea off. When I go yell at them a little, they agree that the confusion is better than terror. Satisfied, I sit with him until he's able to speak again, but he just asks me about the goat and then falls asleep.

* * *

_Day Eleven_

We keep trying with the morphling. It's been a week with no progress, and the doctors' patience with me, Prim, and Delly is growing thin. We show him tape after tape, and still, they just confuse him, rendering him silent and immobile. But he's starting to come out of it in less time. It's something, but apparently it's not enough. Still, Dr. Dumbass and Co. have no new ideas, so they can't really stop us from trying. We know him, and we want to help, though I suspect we all have different reasons.

Me, I need him to be better. I'm his mentor. And as such, it's my job to make sure he stays alive. If I'm being completely honest, I know my reasons are selfish. The Mockingjay needs him, and she's essential to the cause, which means that he is too. That reason might be nobel. But I also know that I feel somewhat bad for leaving him in the arena. We had no choice. Nevertheless, I made that call. That reason is slightly more despicable, considering my guilt. I don't like to admit this, but I also would rather not imagine a life for myself, and for the Mockingly, for that matter, where he stays like this. Without him, we'd all be miserable. With him, we could survive, if we manage to make it out of this in one piece, which I think we all know is highly unlikely.

Prim, she's doing this for her sister. Delly, it's anyone's guess, probably just out of the goodness of her heart, which I don't really understand.

So we all sit around the table as he watches the tape of the two of them kissing in the snow. I don't know what he's seeing, but it's not what's on the screen in front of him. They must have shown him this particular video in an altered form. I don't imagine it would be very hard to manipulate; she's already on top of him, pinning him down. He's still restrained by his wrists to the table, but we've been trying to get them to unshackle him. He strains at the cuffs, body tense, as he fights the images in his mind. Good. At least he's fighting. When the screen goes black, his head drops to the table, resting on his forearms. The girls exchange a look, and I think we all must assume that he's passed out. That's usually how this goes. I'm sighing when he speaks, and it's more of a mumble, so I almost miss the words. Almost.

"That was real?"

Prim is the first to speak, jumping to answer right away.

"Oh, yes, Peeta. That's what happened. I was there. It was snowing, so you guys slipped, but no one got hurt. You were laughing and kissing and Caeser had to remind you that you were on camera. It was all very sweet."

At the word camera, he tenses, and she knows what she did wrong. But he doesn't lose it.

"We were on camera? We were acting?"

Prim hesitates, but when he slams his fist on the table, she answers him again.

"Yes. You were almost always on camera. But I don't know how much of it was acting. I won't lie, Peeta, I know Katniss wasn't always honest with you. But I know my sister, and you know her too, and I think you'd agree she's not that great of an actor. There were so many times when I know she wasn't just putting on a show."

He pauses he, raising his hand, but not aggressively, just trying to understand.

"So, when we fell… it was because of the ice?"

"Yes."

"She didn't push me?"

"No."

"I didn't get hurt?"

"No."

"Oh. Okay. I just thought. The way I remember it, she was attacking me again, but on the screen, that's not what it looks like."

"I know. She didn't attack you, Peeta. She wouldn't do that to you."

He's getting confused again, I can tell. Sometimes he forgets what's happened to him. That the Capitol altered his memories. He thinks he's just remembered wrong. He doesn't, he _can't_, fully understand what's wrong. I'm ready to call it a day, but the girls push on, determined to help him remember.

"No, Peeta. What you though is wrong. The memory where Katniss attacks you, the Capitol made that up and put it in your head," Delly says.

"The Capitol?" He asks.

"Yes. I know it's not something you want to remember, Peeta, but just try. It'll be better if you do. President Snow took you and convinced you of all these horrible things. He was the one who tortured you. Not Katniss. She just wanted you to be safe. That's all she's ever wanted. Your memory isn't real. What we just showed you is."

"Us kissing is real?"

"Yes," Delly tells him.

"And Katniss attacking me? That's not?"

"Yes," she breathes out, relived that he's understood.

"Right," he says, but he still looks like he's trying to puzzle something out.

"What, boy?"

"But we were acting?"

This has become the hardest part. The simple answer is yes. They were acting. She was pretending to love him. But, unfortunately, that's not the true answer. She was acting, but she was also falling in love with him. Anyone close to her could see it. With the state she was in before we rescued him, and even after, I have to wonder how dense she must be to not see it herself. It would be easier if she would just come to terms with it and talk to him herself, work it all out, but I know that's not a possibility. Not now. Maybe not ever.

"I guess, because the cameras were there, but I know she loves you, Peeta. You guys were in love!"

Prim's voice gets high with the emotions of a thirteen-year-old.

"That's what they all say," he says dismissively. "But I don't love her, and it doesn't look like she loves me. I wish I could believe it, but it just doesn't make sense, Prim. "

"It makes sense. You'll see."

Prim leaves with that, clearly thinking hard about how to convince Peeta what's real and what's not. Delly says goodbye and clears out, and I just follow, feeling relatively useless to the boy.

* * *

_Day Sixteen_

The Mockingjay got shot yesterday, and I skipped my visit with the boy. I've instructed Plutarch to be vague with her about his recovery, not sure how she'd react, but now that she's back, I know she has to find out what's being going on with him soon. After that day last week, Prim's treatments started to work better. He would still get confused, but between the morphling and the conversations, he's been less violent. He's allowed to walk around his cell without manacles or handcuffs, and I think that's helped him calm down as well. That's not to say that he's calm all the time. He's started talking to himself, which is unnerving, but slightly better than him not talking at all. Boy still has his moments, but at least he's mostly coherent for the better part of the days now. I'm trying to get the good ole doctors to let him out of the cell for a little bit each day. Maybe let him in the kitchen or someplace quite.

When I go to him today, I'm honest. I tell him what happened to her. That she's back. He asks to see her.

I'm not sure it's a good idea.

* * *

_Day Twenty Five_

Prim has a new idea, and it's tall, dark, and moody. Especially

around the boy. But eventually, they agree to talk, because no one

can say no to Prim. I watch from behind the glass as Gale

confidently opens the door and takes sure, soldierly steps to where the boy stands, who's tenser than I've seen him in a while. I can practically see the uncertainty radiating off of him in waves. They size each other up, and it's so obvious that I have to laugh. Neither of them sits. They're acting like little boys, although that couldn't be further from the truth. Hawthorne has to be at least twenty at this point, and looks much older. The boy has always looked young, but despite his age, I know he isn't. Hasn't been in a while. He's experienced more pain and suffering than most fully grown adults ever will, and that ages a person in more ways than one. I should know.

"Prim talked to me," Gale hedges. "Says she's been helping with your… recovery. And that I should too. If I want to."

"And do you want to?"

"I don't know. Do you want me to?"

"I don't know."

They're silent for far too long.

"Look. I came here to tell you something. To explain something, actually. I don't really want to. But Prim convinced me. I guess you know how persuasive she is."

"Like her sister, when she wants to be."

They both laugh somewhat awkwardly, dancing around the topic of Katniss. But what else would they have to talk about? 12? Too painful.

"So, anyway, Prim was saying that you're pretty confused. About her." Gale clears his throat. "About Katniss," he says, clarifying.

The boy snorts. He doesn't explain that this is painfully obvious. He just stares at the floor.

"She loves you," Gale says.

The boy's head whips up so fast he probably has whiplash. He opens his mouth, but Gale shushes him.

"No, let me explain."

The boy goes to talk again, to protest, I think, but Gale refuses to let him.

"Please, let me do this. Just let me get it over with and get out of here. To be honest, this isn't really something I want to do. Keeping 900 people alive in the woods with two bows was easier."

Finally, finally, finally, the boy shuts his mouth. Never though I'd live to see the day.

"Okay. Good. So I figure if Katniss can't be here to explain this to you, then I'm the next most qualified person. And I mean it when I say she physically can't. She's… confused. Like you. But I'm not. Not anymore. I've known her since we were kids. She's my best friend. And I won't pretend that I don't see her as something more. But that's not what matters. What matters is that Prim and I are the two people who know her best in this world. And we both watched her fall in love with you. Katniss is the most guarded person I've met in my life, but the way she is with you is different. She loves you so much she can't even bring herself to hide it. And I know you think that she was always acting for the cameras, but I can tell you with certainty that there are times when she wasn't. Mostly in the Quell…"

Unable to keep quiet for another second, the boy interjects, arguing that Prim told him the same thing.

"Can you just stay quiet for two minutes? I'm trying to get to the point, and that's not it. I don't really care what she did on camera, and I'm not here to dissect it all for you. I'm here for pretty much the opposite reason. I'm here to tell you what I saw off camera, because I know I'm the only one who can. When you were in the Capitol… she was a complete mess. More so than now. I mean, she was just absolutely despondent. Consumed by you. Not just for show. Actually, I saw it most acutely when we were alone. The only other person I've seen her worry like that over is Prim. Not even me. But she cares about you so much. She can't live without you. I've seen the physical proof. I hope that helps… clear some stuff up for you."

"How do I know I can trust you?"

"Mellark, I know they fucked you up pretty good, but are you actually that stupid? Why would I make any of that up? You know I love her, right? You know this doesn't mean I'm giving up on her. I just want a fair fight."

And with that Gale takes his leave.

* * *

_Day Twenty Nine_

I climb two mountains today. The first is when I get Plutarch to convince the doctors to let the boy do the cake for Finnick's wedding. That was a pretty small mountain to climb, considering the boy's longstanding history as a baker and his significant improvements after Gale talked to him. Those things, coupled with the fact that Plutarch is completely consumed with making this wedding a smash hit, made the task no brainer for me. The second mountain is much larger, and I've been climbing it for days, but eventually, I decide I need to tell The Mockingjay exactly what's been going on with her boy. I also decide that the answer is yes. Yes I'll let him see her. His doctors don't take much convincing on that one, either. They think it's long overdue.

* * *

_Day Thirty_

The boy works on the cake for literally twenty-four hours straight, and I can't remember the last time I've seen him looking so _normal_. As per usual, he creates a masterpiece. But when The Mockingjay sees it, she looks like she might just vomit. I quickly propel her out of the crowded room, and in her dazed state, she agrees to talk with him. Their exchange is heated and sets him back in his recovery.

* * *

_Day Forty_

For every step back he took after seeing The Mockingjay, he's taken two forward, and is now allowed out into Thirteen for meals and such, heavily guarded of course. He's still confused, fighting with himself and getting angry and lashing out… hell… he's more than confused. He's still crazy. But I can see that he's been steadily improving, and for the first time I feel optimistic. I'm considering arranging for him and The Mockingjay to talk again when I get word of Coin's plan. Her plan to "include him in the propos." Bullshit. I know what this is really about. And in that moment, I realize that all this effort on my part has been futile. They're both going to the Capitol, and they're both going to die. I give up all hope. I don't visit him again.

* * *

_Day Fifty_

She's shipped off. I won't see her again.

* * *

_Day Fifty Seven_

He's shipped off. I won't see him again.

* * *

_Day Fifty Eight_

They're both pronounced dead.

* * *

_Day Sixty One_

The Capitol falls. They're both in the burn unit. We are all alive. Finnick is not. Prim is not. It has to be a miracle… some cruel joke the gods have played on us.

* * *

_Day…_

I lose track of the days. I lose track of The Mockingjay. She loses track of herself. She loses herself. He finds himself, back in the place where they broke him. But he's always been the strongest of us victors. Despite this, we're "allowed" to go home, while he's sentenced to stay here. He tells me he doesn't mind, that he wants to finish his recovery. I know it's too late for me, and I know she won't make any progress without him. And if she's stuck in this comatose state until he comes home, well, then I'm stuck too. I can't help her, but that doesn't mean I won't lose sleep over worrying about her. I care more than I ever intended to. So I drink the days away and she just sits and stares, both of us slowly dying, stranded until he comes to save us.


End file.
